Never Fire [ONC2020]

Chapter 9: The Roaring Fire

Dry. The air was dry—like it always was after lighting a match. But the air was also still, void of the rushing wind that normally whisked Sienna away to another world, and when a sharp pain seared through her fingers she let go of the match—

And she watched as it blackened and shrivelled, burning up on the stone floor of the Fire Temple. The fire went out.

Azarahn had not faded.

Eyes wide, breathing labored, Sienna stared at the burnt remains of the match. Her head spun. A tingling wave of heat crashed over her, and sweat broke out along her forehead—whether from guilt or from shame or from scorching fear, she couldn't tell. But she didn't have time to tell because Envre pushed her back against the wall with sharp warning on his face. The footsteps were upon them, and a robed figure passed into the hall. Shrouded by darkness, the silhouette stopped for a moment and looked down each hallway. Sienna thought for certain they would be seen.

But the figure turned and walked to the end of the opposite hallway, opening the door to the room with the matches inside. Sienna felt Envre tense beside her. Perhaps Fajhiro himself had felt the fire that had burned the match that lay in ashes on the floor now and was checking on his supply. Or had another Matchlight survived the geihs? Were priests' duties to guard the room and its contents?

What if the entire temple had heard the lantern's glass break and had found the dead body upstairs?

Her throat closed, and it was all Sienna could do to not make a sound as the figure closed the door behind him and began to walk down the hall—their hall. She held her breath, the darkness embracing her like a close friend. She prayed she would melt into the nightly shadows if she were seen, and then she realized she'd thought the same thing back in the governor's room only days ago. In Djianora, her best one.

The silhouette passed by them and stopped at the door, turning back into the moonlight to make sure no one was following him.

No, not him. Her. Zimorrah.

Her head uncovered, dark hair pinned back but trailing loosely behind her, Zimorrah wrenched the door open, glanced around again, and slipped inside.

A moment passed.

"If anyone knows where Fajhiro is, it's her." What was Zimorrah doing in the temple? Hadn't she left Azarahn for the day and wasn't supposed to return until the next afternoon? Suspicion bloomed inside Sienna like a thorny rose. And why had Zimorrah gone into the room with the matches? "The High Priest's daughter."

"I know who she is," Envre snapped before softening. "We could wait until she comes back out. Or follow her."

"Fajhiro could already be in there."

"Well, there's definitely no escape from him now," said Envre, gingerly touching the burnt remains of the match with his sandal.

Striding to the door and gripping the handle firmly, shard of glass steady in his left hand, Envre raised an eyebrow. Ready? it asked.